


The Sky Is Crying (But So Am I)

by shan_love



Series: Tales of Oriana Hawke [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shan_love/pseuds/shan_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m here if you need me…but I must find my own way,” <br/>“Good,” she opened the door but hesitated for a long moment on the threshold. “Then maybe I won’t have to watch you die too,” </p><p>DA2 fic, set after Birthright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sky Is Crying (But So Am I)

Oriana sighed contentedly as she tucked her legs beneath her. Between the soothing echo of the rain against the roof and the crackle of the fire in the hearth, she hadn’t felt so blissfully untroubled in months. Add to that her newest find, a seemingly ancient Tevinter spell book, and she was as close to happy as she had been since Bethany…she shook her head and immediately attempted to refocus her thoughts. Happy. Yes, that was it. She was happy. Like she hadn’t been in…in what felt like a very long time.

Of course, for her at least, it seemed good things weren’t meant to last, as her happiness was brutally interrupted moments later when Carver all but stomped over to the fireplace, proving himself to be a very good blocker of light, if not much else.

She glanced up from her book, quickly taking in the set of his shoulders, and barely contained the urge to roll her eyes as her lips pursed with distaste. “You’re _still_ brooding?” she asked disbelievingly, watching as he threw a stick into the fire despite the fact that it was blazing perfectly well on its own; she’d seen to that the moment she’d trudged inside, covered in mud and drenched with rain water. Flint was nothing compared to a dripping mage. “You’re nobility; knock it off,”

He didn’t answer, not that she expected anything different; he’d barely spoken to anyone since they’d emerged from underneath what had once been the Amell estate, covered in an unpleasant combination of smugglers’ blood and dust, and here it was nearly a week later and he was _still_ moping around like someone had kicked him hard between the legs.

She couldn’t see a problem with the situation but, then again, she wasn’t Carver; hand him a sovereign and he’d complain about it not being shiny enough. So they were part of some grand legacy; what did it matter? They weren’t Amells anyway; they were _Hawkes_. And damned proud of it. She’d rather be an apostate with a backbone than one of the simpering nobles this city seemed so full of.

He grunted, the first time he’d acknowledged her presence since she’d come home, nearly two hours past now. It didn’t approach their record, though; Maker, but those had been the four greatest days of her life. “We’re still a long way for cowing templars with our titles, sister,”

She sighed. And people thought _she_ was the moody one. “We took a big step with grandfathers will,” she said, returning her eyes to her book. “You should respect that,” she added, almost as an afterthought. True, they wouldn’t be moving into Hightown any time soon, but they were a hell of a lot closer to getting out of Gamlen’s Lowtown hovel then they were a week ag and _that_ was a blessing in and of itself. The sooner they got out of this hellhole, the closer to genuine happiness she’d be.

“Right, right. The _glorious_ Amells, a noble lineage dating to the third blight,” he waved her off. “You know what that means? Seven hundred years of people saying ‘Wow! Look how great we _used_ to be,’” he scoffed and tossed another stick into the fire, watching as it turned to ash. “Mother didn’t even want that life back until we got dumped here. And _you_ only care because we’re under templar scrutiny,”

She rolled her eyes at his theatrics and, careful to mark her place, closed her book with a muffled thump. Something told her she wasn’t going to get any reading done tonight, not with Carver in one of his more vocal moods. “The second child act is getting pretty _stale_ , brother,” she drawled.

“Try it from this side. Always running after you or taking care of mother while you _mark_ your territory-”

“That’s _enough_ , Carver,” she warned, her eyes narrowing. She wasn’t in the mood for his whining tonight, not that she ever was, of course. All she wanted to do was enjoy a few moments peace after what had been a _very_ long day. Unfortunately, he seemed to be on a roll and didn’t even bother pausing his rant long enough to reply.

“Even back home. What could I be? The lone blade in a house of mages. If I excelled, it brought to much attention…”

She scoffed, unable to keep from rolling her eyes once more. As though that would have _ever_ been a problem. Carver was decent with a blade, she couldn’t argue that, but he would never be a master, a fact which had little to do with the potency of the magic in their blood.

“…that was a waste, eh? Could’ve found my fortune if Bethany was going to die on your watch anyway,”

She uncurled from the chair and rose to her feet in one smooth motion, advancing on him with narrowed eyes. “You will _not_ use her against me like that,” she said, her voice more than hard enough to match the steel in her gaze. “She deserves _better_ ,”

“Then you should’ve given better,” he spat, taking a step towards her as though his bulk would frighten her into submission. He should’ve known better but, then again, she’d never attributed Carver with an overabundance of brains.

Nostrils flaring like those of an angry steed and her eyes nearly pulsing with power, her entire body grew rigid as rage-fueled-adrenaline flooded her system. Never before, ever, had she truly wanted to hurt her brother. But this…he had gone too far this time. And, if the fear in his eyes was any indication, he knew it.

“I gave _everything_ ,” she said sharply, a clap of thunder punctuating her words and making him flinch away from her, as though she’d been the cause. “Question me, mother, _yourself_ , but not that; _never_ that,” she finished with a snarl, the venom dripping from her words more than enough to make him think twice about mustering up the courage to reply.

Fighting for control, she forced herself to look away, her shoulders shaking with the effort. “I think we’re _done_ ,” she said finally and there was little doubt she was talking about more than the conversation. Moving towards the door as quickly as her tensed muscles would allow she fought the urge to turn on him with every step. Andraste’s flaming ass, she needed to get away before she did something she’d regret.

“Sister!”

She stilled, the hand clenched around the bolt nearly crackling with power. Maker help him if he didn’t choose his words with care…

“I feel…I don’t know. It’s like mother, taking everything out on us; she was just scared,” he hesitated, as though unsure of whether or not he should continue. Honestly, she would prefer he didn’t; her nerves stood bloody and raw and she knew it would take only one wrong word for what little resolve she had left to crumble. “I don’t have a place in the life she is trying to bring back,” he finished slowly. “I’m here if you need me…but I must find my own way,”

“Good,” she opened the door but hesitated for a long moment on the threshold. “Then maybe I won’t have to watch you die too,” Without a backward glance, she stepped out into the rain and closed the door firmly behind her.

As she started down the steps, she was suddenly thankful for the rain.

At least now no one would be able to tell she was crying.


End file.
